


Burn the Witch

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bandages, Bathing/Washing, Bathtubs, Beating, Blood and Injury, Bruises, Burn The Witch, Burns, Caring, Comfort, Concern, Drama, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Feelings, Feels, Healing, Healing Salve, Hugs, Hurt, Hurt Rowena, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Latin, Magical Girls, Non-Graphic Violence, Pain, Pet Names, Relationship(s), Religious Fanaticism, Romance, Rowena Feels, Rowena Gets A Hug, Rowena Needs A Hug, Rowena Whump, Rowena's Attack Dog Spell, Salve, Screaming, Spells & Enchantments, Whump, Witch Burning, Witchcraft, Witches, Worry, Wounds, screams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-19 00:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10627926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Reader saves Rowena from being burned at the stake and takes care of her afterwards.





	

Rowena and you have been through it all in your two years of knowing each other, but never, in a million years, would you have thought a bunch of religious nuts would kidnap her and attempt to burn her at the stake for the horrible crime of being a witch.

You made your presence known by blasting the door clear off its hinges with a simple glance. You were in no mood for pleasantries, and considering these people wanted to kill your lover in one of the worst ways possible, they were lucky you didn’t set them on fire on sight to give them a taste of their own medicine.

Rowena was tied to a wooden stake, her wrists bound behind her back. Straw and firewood laid beneath her feet, waiting for the torch the old guy (whom you assumed was their leader) held to light it.

“Drop it!” you ordered, your tone leaving no place for argument.

Rowena stirred up, startled by your voice, and turned to look at you. Noticing a dark purple bruise around her eye, you clenched your fists in anger. They were going to pay for that. They were going to pay for everything they’d put her through.

The fanatics, all five of them, pointed their rifles at you, and you barely resisted a chuckle. As if those things could hurt you. Ever since Rowena had gotten you a Resurrection Seal of your own, there weren’t that many things that made you fear for your life.

The sixth one, the guy holding the torch, smirked at you smugly. He was enjoying this more than he should have. You made a mental note to make sure his death was the worst.

“And why should I?”

“‘Cause if you don’t, something really bad will happen to you.”

Correction: something really bad would happen to them either way, but if they stopped what they were doing, you were willing to make it hurt a tad less. It all depended on how much they pissed you off, and right now they were treading on a dangerous line.

“You’re unholy,” one of the rifle holders, a bearded man in his mid thirties, said.

“You need to be cleansed,” a blonde woman whom you assumed to be his wife, judging by their matching bands, added.

That was rich, coming from people who couldn’t take Rowena on without drugging her first. It must have felt great to beat on and tie up a helpless witch who couldn’t even defend herself. Whatever they’d given her was strong; you could tell she was struggling to keep her head upright.

Your anger burned stronger. Oh, how you would make them scream! Forget mercy – they deserved nothing but the worst, and that was exactly what they were going to get.

“It’s okay,” the torch guy said, nodding to his comrades before turning back to you. “I’ll do what you asked.”

And with that he dropped the torch onto the straw, and in a split second a large fire burned up, finding its way over to Rowena’s feet.

_Fuck!_

Bad choice of words.

Rowena’s eyes widened in fear. She struggled against the restrains, trying to free herself, but all attempts were futile. The ropes around her wrists were too strong.

“You will pay for that, you bastard!” you snarled, eyeing him and the rest of his merry group as you readied the very first incantation your girlfriend had taught you. _“Impetus bestiarum!_ _Occidete invicem!”_

One by one, the fanatics began to scream, their eyes turning blood red as animalistic growls ripped from their throats. Just as you ran over to Rowena, their eyes found one another and soon enough they were at each other’s throats, quite literally, ripping and gnawing at fresh flesh.

“Rowena!”

Her dress had caught fire, flames eating their way up the left side of her body. She screamed out loud as pain ripped through her leg, the fire licking at the sensitive skin.

Your eyes welled up in tears and, feeling helpless, you let out a barrage of curses. What was the spell to put out fire, again?

 _“_ _E_ _xstinguere,”_ you exclaimed, hoping you got it right. Latin wasn’t one of your strong suits.

Luckily, your magic heard your call and the flames died down in an instant, leaving behind a cloud of dark smoke. Breathing out in relief, you went to free Rowena’s wrists and your heart swelled with sympathy as you took in the state of her injuries. The ropes, thin and razor sharp, had cut into her skin. Blood was pouring out the cuts, fresh and warm.

She yelped when you started fiddling with the ropes. “It’s okay,” you told her gently. “Let me take them off. It’ll only hurt for a moment.”

As soon as she was freed, you took her into your arms, holding her tightly against you. She held on to you as if she hadn’t seen you in centuries, burying her head in the crook of your neck.

“You’re safe, sweetheart,” you whispered. “I got you. Come now, let me take you home.”

 _Home_ was a small apartment you owned. It was far from the glamour of the five star hotels the two of you were used to, but it was cozy and had a homely feel to it that no luxury could replace. Rowena would never admit it out loud, but she loved that tiny place. She felt safer there than she did anywhere else.

“I can’t. My leg…”

You carefully sat her down, pushing up her charred dress to examine the extent of her injuries. A large, nasty looking burn spread from her ankle all the way up to her thigh. The skin was raw, an ugly bright red that looked awful and hurt even worse.

“Damn it!” you swore. “You can’t walk at all?” You hoped with everything you had that she could.

“I could try, but I don’t think we’d get far. It hurts, and also, they injected me with somethin’. I feel strange.” She looked you in the eye. “Ye should leave. Don’t worry about me.”

“Never!” you fired, outraged at her suggestion. How could she even think you’d ever leave her? “You hear me? Don’t even think that! I don’t ever want to hear you say that! Have I made myself clear?”

“So dramatic,” she teased, pulling on a small smile.

“When it comes to you, always.” Being dramatic was the only way you could get through to someone as stubborn as her. “Listen, the car is just around the corner. It’s not a long walk. Wanna give it a go? I’ll help you.”

“Alright,” she reluctantly gave in. “I’ll try.”

You let her throw an arm around you, yours in turn wrapping around her waist for support. She limped and hissed all the way over to the car, but managed to pull through without much trouble. You made sure to compliment her on her strength; after everything she’d been through in the past few hours, she deserved a little praise.

By the time you reached your apartment, the drugs had worn off. Rowena was still weak; her injuries hurt like hell, but she was able to use little bits of magic and her head had gotten somewhat clearer.

As per her request, the first thing you did was run her a hot bath. You wanted to take care of her injuries, but she was adamant that she get clean first – she wanted to get all the filth off herself as soon as possible, even if it meant enduring a little bit of pain.

You helped her out of her tattered dress by ripping the ruined fabric apart and letting the pieces slip to the floor. Once she was naked and you could absorb the full extent of her leg injury, you wondered how the hell she withstood the pain she certainly must have been in. If it had been you, you would have curled up on the floor and cried out incoherently until the pain meds you most certainly would have taken started working.

You led her into the bathtub and positioned her to sit between your open legs, careful not to disturb the painful-looking deep purple bruises on her abdomen. Those fanatics had beaten her good. Rage swelled up in you from even the thought of how much they had to have pounded on her to cause that kind of damage.

Rowena seemed to be taking it well. She hadn’t protested much, and save from a few hisses and yelps, the water, as well as the warmth and safety of your arms around her, seemed to have relaxed her.

It was when you poured some shampoo into the water that she stirred, after moments of just laying in your arms, and let out a pained moan.

“It burns,” she said, motioning to her raw wrists and burned leg.

“It’s the shampoo,” you explained, feeling guilty for causing her unnecessary pain. “For your hair. I’m sorry.”

She sighed. “It’s fine,” she said, thought her voice told you it was anything but fine.

“I’ll be quick.”

You gently massaged her scalp, smiling as she relaxed once again under the softness of your touch. After you were done with her hair, you made sure to scrub away all the dirt and caked blood glued to her pale skin; you realized how dirty she really was once you exited the bathtub and glanced upon the brownish-pink water going down the drain.

After getting her a set of clean clothes (an old tank top and soft shorts you had outgrown back in junior high school) and blow-drying her hair, you sat her next to you on the couch in the living room and, having prepared the bandages and healing salve she’d made for you weeks ago following a nasty encounter with a werewolf, started working on her injuries.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” you told her, carefully taking her hand so you could inspect her wrist. It had stopped bleeding, but the wound was still open, very obviously painful.

Rowena smiled through the pain. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ve been through worse.”

What could have possibly been worse than this? You didn’t dare ask. The situation was depressing enough as it was. “Wanna talk about what happened?”

“There isn’t much to say. Ow!” she yelped as you applied the salve to the open wound. That thing had an unfortunate side effect of causing pain before speeding up the healing process.

“Sorry,” you said guiltily, tenderly wrapping the bandage around her wrist before reaching for her other one. “They did horrible things to you. I can’t even imagine–”

“So don’t! Let us not dwell on the past.”

“Alright,” you gave in. You didn’t want to pressure her into doing something she wasn’t comfortable with. Heaven knows she’d had enough of that for one day.

“I’m fine. Honest,” she said, seeing the worried look on your face. She pulled on a small smile. “What’s a little beatin’ and fire for an ol’ witch like me?”

“This isn’t funny, Rowena! You could have died!”

How could she joke at a time like this? You had been scared to death that you would lose her, that she would die without a goodbye and leave you all alone in this world you already despised enough with her in it. You didn’t know what you would have done had you not been able to see her again.

“You’re bein’ dramatic, Y/N,” she said, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“Dramatic?”

Gritting your teeth in anger, you tightened the bandage, causing her to let out a pained groan. _Good,_ you thought. You hated the thought of hurting her, but if she had to learn the hard way what her attitude was doing to you, so be it.

“I’ve been worried sick ever since you disappeared! I almost went to the Winchesters for help. The Winchesters, Rowena! _Hunters!_ It’s fine that you’re so casual about this, but newsflash, sweetheart – I love you, and the thought of you being in pain hurts me! You’re free to get yourself into all kinds of fucked up shit, but not on my watch. You hear me? 'Cause as long as I’m here, I’m gonna worry about you!”

She stared at you, her expression softening at the concern that washed over your features, prompting a single tear to slide down your cheek. You weren’t certain what went through her head; you could see your words impacted her, shook her to the very core, but reading her actual feelings was mission impossible.

Rowena wasn’t used to people caring about her. All her life she’d only had herself to depend on, herself to trust. Everyone she’d ever crossed paths with had either betrayed her or abandoned her. You were the first genuine thing she’d had in centuries and she didn’t know how to deal. She trusted you, immensely, truly, but the experience was still foreign to her. It was almost like she’d expected you to betray her, expected you to sell her out to some hunter and leave without ever coming back.

She was a mesmerizing tragedy. Even with all the scars and bruises, both physical and psychological, she was gorgeous, a beautiful disaster you loved more than anything in the world.

“How could ye love someone like me, after all I’ve done?” she asked suddenly, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between you.

Loving her was far from easy. You knew what you were getting into from the very start. You’d witnessed firsthand her manipulation tactics. How she’d play the Winchesters even when they were the ones keeping her chained up. Hell, she’d even tried to manipulate you while you were doing your best to make sure they wouldn’t hurt her while they held her captive. She’d given up once she realized you were on her side, but still, she never completely stopped being her worst self.

Hearing her say she would never love anything broke your heart into a million pieces. That had turned out to be false, however, those words still hurt, having to listen to them while, head over heels by now, practically begging Castiel and Crowley not to hurt her.

You had almost called it quits when the whole thing with Lucifer happened, but watching her die made you realize you weren’t ready to let her go. She had become a constant in your life, a part you couldn’t imagine living without.

“I just do,” you replied. You didn’t really have a reason. Rowena was beautiful, powerful, dangerous, a force to be reckoned with and, once you got to know her, the biggest sweetheart you could ever meet. She was just _Rowena,_ and that was enough for you to love her. “You’re Rowena fucking MacLeod. Isn’t that enough?”

That prompted her to chuckle. “I appreciate everythin’ ye’ve done for me. I’m sorry if I came off as ungrateful. I love ye, Y/N. I guess I’m still strugglin’ to accept that someone could love a person like me.”

“You’re very lovable.” Finishing her wrist, you brought her hand to your lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “Don’t ever think that you’re not.” You glanced down to her abdomen. “Your ribs okay?”

“Aye. It’s just a few bruises. I’ll be fine.”

“And your face?”

“Same.”

“God, Rowena, I hate this.” You cupped her cheek so you could inspect the deep purple bruise around her eye. “I hate _them_ for doing this to you.”

“I’ll live. They won’t.” She gave you a proud smile. “That was quite an astonishing feat, my dear. I’m impressed.”

You blushed at her praise. You could win a Nobel prize, and not even that could compare to the joy of having her respect. “I learned from the best.”

“You flatter me,” she said, smiling brightly. She loved compliments as much – if not more – as you did.

“Put your leg up,” you instructed as you got up and pulled over a nearby chair to sit on.

Rowena obeyed, letting out a groan at the outburst of pain caused by the sudden movement. A string of empathy pulled at your fast beating heart. You hated seeing her in pain, and loathed those who’d caused it. A small part of you took solace in the fact that they paid for it with their lives. However, their death, as horrifying as it was, didn’t make her pain go away.

You would have gladly taken all her suffering onto yourself, if given a chance. Anything, just so she wouldn’t have to suffer.

“This is going to hurt,” you told her as you prepared the salve. By your estimate, her burn was somewhere between first and second degree; while it was nowhere as bad as it could have been, it was still nasty and touching it would hurt like a bitch.

“It’s alright. Just do it,” she replied calmly, though the dread that crossed her face gave her away. She was scared, deadly so; scared of more pain, of torment that didn’t seem to end no matter how much time she gave it. In the end, something would always happen and regress all her progress back to zero.

It wasn’t fair, you thought. Rowena may have been bad in the past, but she was trying her hardest to be a better person. She deserved a chance.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” you whispered, getting up shortly just to give her a kiss to the forehead. “I’ll be gentle.”

“I know, darlin’. Do what ye must do. I’ll be fine,” she assured you, forcing on a smile to placate you.

Taking a deep breath for courage, you started rubbing the cool, creamy salve over her burn. The moment your hand touched the soft injury, Rowena let out a hiss, her face twisting into a pained grimace.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your sympathy-filled eyes welling up with tears. You were the one hurting her now, and you hated yourself for it. It was to help her, yes, but the fact remained that it was because of you that she was in so much pain. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I can stop if you want.”

“Keep goin’,” she insisted. “I’ll be alright.”

“You sure?”

“Aye.”

“Okay. If you need me to stop, let me know.”

“Just get it over with.”

The following twenty minutes, which was how long it took you to finish up her leg, had been hell. Despite all her attempts to keep quiet, a few screams that sounded like they came straight from nightmares had managed to tear from Rowena’s throat. You were glad the apartment had been magic proofed, otherwise the police would have been called the very first time your touch to a particularly sensitive place on the large wound have caused her to shriek like a banshee.

You begged her to let you stop for just a bit, but she was adamant that you finish what you started. She may have been in unimaginable pain, but Rowena sure knew how to be intimidating. You didn’t dare go against her pointed glare and sharp tone.

Once the salve had been applied and all the bandages were in place, you let out a breath you’d been holding for a while, happy to have finally finished the difficult task. It wasn’t that you minded taking care of Rowena; nothing could measure with joy of being trusted enough for her to let you see her at her worst. To help her you had to hurt her, and that, despite the positive results, made you hate yourself more than anything.

She was still shaking like an addict craving a fix when you let go of her leg. You remembered that feeling well from the time that werewolf attacked you and she’d applied that very same salve to your deep scratches. It was some old recipe she’d found in one of the books she’d acquired over the centuries. In order for the wound to heal faster, the salve had to irritate it, and that tended to go as far as doubling the pain.

You recalled shaking the very same way, on that very same couch, crying into Rowena’s chest as she held you and murmured soothing words. You’d spent the entire night like that, wrapped in the safety of her tiny arms.

You’d only managed to fall asleep in the early morning hours. When you woke up a few hours later, you’d found her bent over a stove, making you soup mixed with some potion she’d claimed – which had later proven to be true – would help keep your mind at ease for the rest of the ordeal.

It took almost two days for your scratches to stop hurting. You shuddered at the thought of Rowena being like this for the next forty-eight hours.

“This bloody hurts!” she whimpered, desperately reaching for her bandaged leg in hopes of easing the pain. The moment her hand pressed against the wound, she let out another scream. Tears she’d been holding back for hours finally spilled down her face, turning her naturally rosy cheeks a deep shade of red.

Your hands balled into fists in anger; anger at the people who’d done this to her and at the salve for having this horrifying side effect.

It was when she started scratching at her wrists, which, despite not being as affected, still hurt like hell, that you rejoined her on the couch and wrapped her in a tender, loving embrace.

“Don’t do that,” you told her, clasping your hand over hers to stop her from picking at the bandages.

Letting out a soft groan, she nestled into you, leaning her head against your chest.

“I don’t think I can take this much longer.”

She was full on crying now, pressing her lips into a firm line to suffocate the sobs that threatened to rip from her mouth.

You could tell she hated uttering those words, hated herself for showing vulnerability so openly, and it broke your heart to see her like that; broken, on the verge of a breakdown.

“Yes, you can,” you told her. “And you will. If anyone can do it, it’s you. If you need to scream, do it. Holding it in isn’t healthy. Just let it go. I won’t think any less of you.” Your grip on her hand tightened in reassurance. “I promise, sweetheart. Whatever you do, I won’t judge you.”

So she did. She let it go, let the sobs and screams and shrieks roam free until her throat grew sore and she had no other choice but to bury her head in your chest and cry inconsolably.

Your soul hurt at the sight of her, so fragile, so vulnerable, but the only thing you could do was hold her and rub soft, soothing circles across her back.

“You’re my strong girl,” you murmured in an attempt to console her and get her to keep fighting for the only person who could truly get her through everything that awaited her was herself. “I know you can do this.”

“I can,” she agreed, her voice a tad more confident than before. It wasn’t much, but it was progress. “I survived the British Men of Letters. I survived the Grand Coven. I survived Lucifer, and he actually killed me. I can do this.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“Thank ye, Y/N. Ye’ve been nothin’ but kind to me. I owe you.”

“You owe me nothing. You did the same thing for me when that werewolf hurt me. You’ve stayed awake for two days to watch over me. Now it’s time for me to return the favor.”

You leaned down to kiss the top of her head, nuzzling her hair like a puppy in need of cuddling.

“I’m not going to leave you. Whatever happens, I’m here. I love you, Rowena. Seeing you like this hurts me. And I will do everything in my power to make you as comfortable as possible.”

“That’s nice of ye to say.”

“And I mean every single word. You’re not alone in this, honey. Not anymore – and never again. I promise. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

She chuckled at the last part. “I love ye.”

“You better,” you teased, diving for another kiss, this one to her cheek.

It took a few hours for her to finally drift off to peaceful slumber. You followed right after her, holding onto her as if she were a plushie you used to sleep with as a child.

And, just as expected, two days later she was as good as new. The wound had still not properly healed, but most of the pain was gone and your girl was back to being her confident self again, the side of her you never, until now, thought you’d miss more than anything in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> CREDITS:  
> Editor: [BewitchedSquirrel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BewitchedSquirrel/)  
> Latin: [OswinTheStrange](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OswinTheStrange/)
> 
> Also, the bathing scene was [BewitchedSquirrel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BewitchedSquirrel/)'s idea. She was kind enough to let me borrow it. :)


End file.
